Friday Five: Still Cross

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have found that cross-stitch is wonderful therapy. It helps me to relax; I get to stab things without hurting anyone; I am able to express my sentiments in a non-violent manner; and I end up with a product that I can give as a gift. Here are my latest creations. All the patterns and explanations are taken from Really Cross Stitch; for when You Just Want to Stab Something a Lot by Rayna Fahey.

Five More Cross Stitches:

'"She was warned. She was given an explanation." Such chilling words when you consider their intent: to silence a woman's political voice.

Fortunately it takes a lot more than that pitiful attempt at bullying to silence Sen. Elizabeth Warren, whose refusal to stay silent energised a movement. 

These three words have become a rallying cry for women fighting to be heard in male-dominated spaces. The knack for persistence is a requirement for any activist, just like cross stitch. So consider this pattern part of your revolutionary routine.'

'Sometimes the state of the world really is quite rage-inducing, and five minutes watching the news can leave you feeling very stabby indeed. 

Channel your rage into this project! There have been countless studies expounding the mental health benefits of craft. Something about the gentle repetitive nature of creating with your hands calms and balances the mind. One thing's for sure, by the time you've stabbed your needle through these 750 stitches you're bound to feel much better. There's a reason it's not called "happy stitch".'

'"I am not as nasty as racism, fraud, conflict of interest, homophobia, sexual assault, transphobia, white supremacy, misogyny, ignorance, white privilege..." Nina Donovan

Funny how men in power really don't like it when people have political opinions that challenge their domination over the world. Of course if those people happen to be women, or even worse *gasp* women with political power, the dudebros get real upset real quick and the name-calling begins. Yes, we are here to destroy the joint. Calling us names just fuels our fire."

'Compassioning: verb; the act of choosing not to be an asshole to your fellow humans.

Call me a Buddhist if you must, but is there any evidence anywhere that building walls makes people safer? If they work so well, why do people make such a big deal of tearing them down?

Here's an idea, how about we introduce a new measure for governments: the National Index of Compassionate Elected Representatives. Let's rank all politicians and see who truly tops the NICER list.'

'If you think telling your kids there's no Santa is hard, try telling them there's no North Pole.

There are some corporate spin doctors who really have a lot to answer for. Honestly, imagine having the job where you have to come up with ways to spin total climate destruction and obliteration of life as we know it. Somehow they've even managed to propagate the idea that climate change is something "invented" by political activists to, I don't know, make the world a better place or something... Next time you're up against some skeptic, remember:

What do we want? Evidence-based science!
When do we want it? After peer-based review!'

Twirly Girl

While in a blacksmith's shop in Ferndale a couple of months ago, I noticed this rather wonderful sculpture. She is called Twirly Girl and she is created by E.B.Chase. I liked her different faces, her implication of movement, and the general sense of confusion. 

There is a sheet of paper attached to her plinth, which explains the process behind her design, from which I shall quote below.

"Twirly Girl is a spinning woman with four faces, which express anger, bewilderment, embarrassment, and satisfaction. 

During the 1970s, ideals and expectations about women, from female and male viewpoints were pushed into the public consciousness like never before. Feminist authors and speakers helped create a new discourse about women's current roles in our society. However, with this attempt to throw off old sexual stereotypes a new flood of advice and popular images were aimed at women, which could often be just as restricting as the previous ones that they were replacing. With such contradictions facing women regarding social standards, making decisions about personal goals and changes could often be a confusing and difficult process. This was the idea that captured Chase's imagination although it would take him a while to discover the artistic shape to represent it.

Fast forward a few decades to 2003 when Chase was working on a staircase railing. He was experimenting with a spiral-like shape when it suddenly caught his attention. It looked like a swirling skirt flowing out from a spinning body. This figure finally gave shape to the ideas that Chase had been working around in his mind since the 1970s. The flowing skirt represented a woman whirling around overwhelmed with the numerous influences flying at her from every direction. What roles in life does she want to attempt and what roles has she been pushed into that she does not want? Whose advice should she take: women's magazines, her friends', feminist authors? How can she change and improve while remaining true to herself? How should she balance her roles and obligations as a wife/mother/daughter/sister with simply being a woman?

While the benefits of feminism have increased women's equality, it has not been a painless revolution. Women still find themselves battling media images and the social status quo, which do not necessarily fit with their own ideas and aspirations. Chase's sculpture, with her four different faces and twirling body, represents different roles women fill (unwillingly or by choice), different directions from which women receive influence, different paths women can choose, and the conflicting emotions that accompany such decisions and stages in life. Twirly Girl is not just a sculpture; she is also a social commentary with historical perspective on what it has been like to be a woman in our culture, as seen through the eyes of an exceptionally talented artist... who happens to be a man."

This piece of art and accompanying message has sat with me for a while. And I am no less ambivalent it now than I was then. You could even say it has got me in a spin. I love the sculpture. I love the fact that a man has considered this to be an issue worthy of interpretation through the traditional 'masculine' craft of metalwork rather than a more classically comprehended 'feminine' craft such as quilting or embroidery. 

And yet I can't help feeling that this is also an example of mansplaining - we know all this and don't necessarily need a man to point it out (even with multiple directions in such an appealing manner). I know that is unfair. Men can be feminists too; generally we welcome them, but should they 'shut up and listen' or continue to draw attention to themselves in 'our' struggle? It's certainly a fraught issue, and despite thinking about it for years, I haven't got an answer. (If I were a man I would have solved the issue by now and moved on - that's flippant, I know. I'm sorry.)

And then there's the name of the piece. Even though in the opening line of explanation we are told that she is a 'spinning woman', she is still called a girl. Every time I hear someone (usually male) refer to 'this girl at work/ in the office/ on the bus/ in the Olympics', I ask them how old she is. If she is over 16, why are they still referring to her as a girl? She is an adult and should be treated with the same respect that we grant to maturity of the male sex. There is a male receptionist where I work. He has a beard. I would never belittle his age, experience and achievements by referring to him as a boy.

There is a clothing outlet in America called Twirly Girl. It sells cute and colourful dresses with full skirts for babies and toddlers to teens. And dolls. Its range includes outfits called Butterflies Rejoice, Singing Sweet Daisies, Mystical Mermaids, Fantastical Rosy World, Dancing Queen, Devoted to Beauty, Hunny Bunny Blossom and Itsy Bitsy Wiggly Watermelon. Don't get me wrong; the dresses are delightful, and there are also frocks with less saccharine names, like I Can Be President, I Can Go To the Moon, and Queen of her Own Kingdom. 

Apparently most of the sales are to grandparents who like to hear their grand-daughters brag that 'Grandma and Grandpa gave me this'. Fair enough. The website states that 'our dresses are pretty unique [sic]. They're very well made and super-colorful and fun. Some have wings. Some are reversible. Others are adorned with long ribbons. And when a little girl starts twirling in her dress, it's showtime!' Exactly. Some little girls like to twirl. They want to show off and they want acclaim. They are performing for an audience. Good for them. I hope they're having fun. 

Please don't ever expect a grown woman to perform for your approval. She is who she is and she does what does. If she is a world-class tennis player, she is an athlete. She is a woman who deserves respect for her ability and her attitude that has brought her to this high pressure point. She should never be asked to 'give us a twirl'. It is demeaning and infantilizing. Women are not girls. Twirling is not spinning. It is not 'just' semantics. 

I really like E.B. Chase's sculpture. I admire his artwork and his rationale. I respect his talent. I am just conflicted by the effect this shape-shifting piece provokes. We may approach this from many different perspectives and arrive at different positions. Is that the point of art, after all? Yes, we all live on the same earth which rotates on its axis and revolves around the sun, and we are all constantly evolving in our opinions and our actions. I hope.

Friday Five: Spring has sprung

To put it simply; spring appears to have happened in the last week or so. Here, as proof, are five pictures of the pretty flowers in our garden.

 

 

 

The Human Face of History

Crime, Punishment and Redemption: A Convict’s Story by June Slee 

(NLA Publishing), Pp. 194

The diary of John Ward is one of the few existing records of life from the perspective of a convict. He was sentenced to ten years transportation to Australia in 1838, before which he spent 19 months on the prison hulk York, moored at Gosport. He was then transported on board The Mangles (1839-1840) but by the time he arrived in NSW, they were no longer receiving convicts, so he was sent instead to Norfolk Island. During 1840-1844 he came under the more humane system of Captain Alexander Maconochie and his marks system, before being sent to Van Diemen’s Land to serve out the final four years of his sentence.

June Slee is delighted with this diary of 155 pages, which provides valuable information about the period. In this book she has copied excerpts from the dairy, adding analysis and background. It is lavishly illustrated with photos, paintings and images of artefacts, collected by the National Library of Australia. Interpretative sections on a variety of topics add colour and include smuggling; eating out; fox hunting; county courts and the justice system; hulks; homosexuality (punishable by death – between 1801 and 1835 more than 50 men were hanged in England for sodomy); convict ships (often shoddy and barely sea-worthy); surgeons-superintendent (the highest ranking man on the ship; he had power over all the convicts; a decent one made a huge difference); convict class and society; and evangelicalism (men could be saved through religious conversion).

In some ways it is reminiscent of Moll Flanders, dwelling on the sordid and squalid aspects which sell, and then the religious conversion and desire to do good seem narratively disappointing. His religious conversion is probably a result of the evangelical tracts which were in vogue at the time. He sees life through the eyes of the evangelists and shuns relatively innocent pleasures such as the line-crossing ceremony held as the Mangles crossed the equator, describing it as “very improper”. The diary in effect becomes an extended confession in which he interprets his previous lifestyle with new-found disapproval.

As a surviving record of transportation, John Ward’s diary adds a human element to the statistics. “Transportation to Australia began with the arrival of the First Fleet at Botany Bay in 1788 and ended when the Hougoumont landed 279 convicts in Western Australia in 1868. Over that 80-year period, an estimated total of 163,000 convicts was sent to Australian penal colonies from Britain.”

Sections on Captain Alexander Maconochie are fascinating from a philosophical perspective as to the future of the nation. He believed that punishment alone would not result in peopling the colony with desirable citizens, and that it was important to recognise that those who were convicts would become settlers.

In writing his diary, John Ward hoped that it “may prove of service to those that may come after me”. Clearly he was intending to convert potential sinners to his brand-new evangelism, but it has proved invaluable to those studying this fascinating period “as a rare, if not unique, eyewitness account of the final decades of British transportation to the Australian penal colonies.”

Friday Five: Really Cross Stitch

When I was in America, I found a fabulous book called Really Cross Stitch; for when You Just Want to Stab Something a Lot by Rayna Fahey. It contains patterns for subversive cross-stitch; traditionally a conservative domestic pastime for women, which is fueled with channeled rage. Inspired by the banners and signs at recent marches around the world, Really Cross Stitch takes all that anger, outrage and protest and puts it inside a pretty, decorative border.

I have been making the samplers and giving them as gifts as to friends and family. Fahey also writes short explanations, which enhance the art and complement the craft.

5 Samples of Really Cross Stitch:

"For far too long girls have carried this slur as an insult. Our fight has always been one for survival and some of the world's greatest heroes have been girls who've fought back against their oppressors. Here's looking at you Malala Yousafzai! Girls and women are reclaiming this slur with gusto."

"Those who hark back to 'simpler times' seem to conveniently forget that said times were a pretty shitty place for women and minorities. It was common policy for women to be paid less than men FOR THE SAME JOB. Around the world women weren't allowed to make contracts, sell property without male permission, or refuse sex from their husband. For women of colour, the situation was worse. Identify as LGBTIQA+? Forget it. A whole generation of women were sedated thanks to medical 'advances' and doctors 'treated' dissent with Valium. Don't even get me started on abortion... If someone tries to tell you life was better back then, just give them a hand-powered washing machine."

"Never has such an oxymoronic statement ever passed the lips of a political spin doctor. First there was Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull's famous call for 'Continuity and Change', now it's almost certain the writers from Veep have snuck in and taken over the autocue. Thankfully, scientists also have some pretty good senses of humour and are countering the muddying of the public debate by coming up with some real fact-based solutions to our global problems. Time for some red hats that say 'Make Earth Cool Again'." 

"The twentieth century should have been a giant lesson in how not to engage in global domination. Unfortunately our world leaders aren't very good at taking heed of historians. It would appear we're not too great at the job of electing world leaders either... Anyone would think there's some kind of ruling elite with vested interest in maintaining a global military industrial complex or something. As the old saying goes, 'Bombing for peace is like f*#^%ing for virginity'."

"The thing about bigotry is that it leads to a blindness. The more you base your beliefs on false ideals of power and control, the less you understand what's really going on around you. Makes things easier for the resistance, because flying under the radar is always possible when you know where the shadow zone is. Craft has played a superb role in human history. Dismissed as women's work, political messages have been hidden in handmade objects since at least the time of abolition. Maps hidden in quilts, stories of disappearances disguised in arpilleras, morse code stitched into samplers, the simple needle and thread has changed the course of history."

Friday Five: Random Thoughts

Here are some thoughts for the week, which are in no particular order and bear no discernible relation to each other.

5 Random Thoughts:

1. We have just had our oven fixed. It has been out of order for about two weeks. The first thing I made in it was baked potatoes. I think they are the food of the Gods. Someone told me they are the meal of poverty. Whatever, they taste great with butter, baked beans and grated cheese. 
2. I was talking to a friend's teenage boy child, and he told me that his three favourite things are Bionicles (a line of Lego construction toys), his family, and food. This seems like a solid, no-nonsense list to me. I remember at a slightly younger age telling my mother I loved her almost as much as my bed. I do greatly value my sleep, and probably meant this as a compliment, but it is patently unfair. I'm sure she's long since forgotten the comment, but I am still racked by guilt - sometimes even to the point that it stops me sleeping at night.
3. I have recently been irritated by advertising slogans, which fail to follow the rules of grammar. For example, an investment finance company advertises itself with the slogan, 'Be ready for next.' Next what? Unless they are referring to the British clothing retailer, founded in Leeds in 1861, which in 2012 overtook Marks and Spencer as the UK's largest clothing retailer, this is an incomplete sentence. It requires a noun at least, if not a definite article. A car manufacturer heralds its brand with the tagline, 'Experience amazing'. Again, I question, amazing what? Grace? Gross disregard for basic syntax? Another culprit that uses adjectives as nouns with car(e)less abandon begs us to 'unlock the more'. I don't even know where to begin with this abomination. Or should I say, 'Witness the wrong'? I read a report this week for the UK Department of Education which claims that more than a quarter of children starting primary school are unable to communicate in full sentences. Is this surprising when so-called educated marketing graduates can't either?
4. My car has been recalled because it has a faulty airbag. I have been sent dire warnings that, 'If you are involved in a collision, the airbag can go off with too much explosive force, causing sharp metal fragments to shoot out and and kill or seriously injure people in your vehicle.' (The bold type is theirs.) This will apparently be fixed free of charge, which is as it should be, and there is no implied fault on behalf of the owner. I phoned up my Toyota dealer to book in for the free replacement, and they informed me that they were not taking bookings for this procedure until next week. You can probably imagine how terrified I am of driving right now. 
5. All of which leads me nicely to the point that I suffer from anxiety. I count things as part of daily life. My morning ritual involves counting how many minutes to steep the teabag (three) to how many times I brush and rinse my teeth (five). When I fold the washing I fold five items before I put them away. When I do the washing up I place four items into the basin each time. When I adjust the sound or the time on a digital device, I always have to settle on an even number (I don't care if this makes my clocks a minute fast: that's just how reckless I am). One of the skills I learned through orienteering as a young child was literally how to pace myself. I would count my steps and know how many steps I walked/ran in 100 metres so, therefore, could work out how far I had travelled on the map, which topographical features I could expect to see around me, and where that elusive control should be. I also know how many strokes it takes me to swim a length of the pool whether I'm doing butterfly, backstroke or front crawl, and I count them to myself to ensure I remain consistent. This is a technique I use whenever things start to get a little too much for me. I love to count - the simple rhythm and predictable pattern is reassuring. I find it interesting that I consider myself a wordsmith, and yet it is numbers that have the power to calm. 

Arty explanations

I've always been fascinated by those explanatory panels beside artworks in galleries. When I was younger I liked landscapes.  I liked pictures of mountains, lakes, rivers, villages, and cottage gardens. I was keen on animals too - even fields of cows held my interest - but people bored me. I used to avoid the halls of stuffy portraits of primped up posers in dark suits and darker oils, or (less frequently) women in layers of frills and nonsense, always with sour expressions and sallow complexions.

But at least I knew what they were. The abstract art confused me. People didn't have multiple noses and dozens of eyes; they weren't made out of cubes. I was completely impervious to wibbly blue lines on yellow backgrounds, or random dots and geometric shapes. Surely, if you had to describe and explain it; it wasn't art.

And then I began to understand how words can narrate more intimate pictures than paint or pencil, and I began to appreciate the fine art of criticism. Analogies are drawn and connections made. I don't believe a picture is worth a thousand words - I feel that words and pictures can exist harmoniously, each adding value to the other. Incidentally, the BBC TV programme Words and Pictures began the year I was born, was a feature of my childhood education, and my introduction to the magnificent (Sir) Tony Robinson - long before he was Baldrick. 

At one point I wanted to be a curator. I wanted to be the person who put exhibitions together and wrote the blurb that went with them. What a wonderful creative outlet, I thought. I later discovered that the job was far more orientated towards filling in forms, applying for grants and fundraising, than being creative with writing and interpretation, so I gave up on that idea. I do, however, retain the greatest respect for those who provide the words for those little white cards, which in turn provide the insight into a piece of otherwise indecipherable art.

For example, this piece of art is made from a wood table, chewing gum and resin cast. It is an oval mosaic of a bearded bloke, with a slightly unusual back board. It is called Egghead and it is by Sean Healey. It is okay, but I wasn't particularly drawn to it. 

Egghead by Sean Healey

And then I read the reasoning, which explains that the cameo is a portrait of Melville Dewey, inventor of the Dewey decimal system used to classify books and other publications. It is constructed from over fifty pieces of chewing gum, chewed by Healey and his son and coated in resin. These fragments of the whole are then placed on the bottom of a repurposed school library table. The curator elucidates that the artwork "explores the rationales of social power structures. Healey's process-orientated installation work is infused by pop culture and the urban environment." He or she adds that the materials used and the placement thereof is "a nod to youthful defiance yet ironically requires much strategy and intelligence".

Suddenly I like the piece more, and have a greater appreciation for its subversive message and its ironic intent. Without these words, I would not have recognised the full implications of the work. So, do we need these statements to justify the art? Or is it mere pretension and aggrandisment? What do you think?

Detail of Egghead by Sean Healy